


The Gift

by derryday



Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Force Healing (Star Wars), Gen, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, Mild Gore, Protectiveness, injuries, post-episode 13, pre-episode 14
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:33:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28321692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/derryday/pseuds/derryday
Summary: Din came awake to faint tugging on his helmet.A weight had settled onto his chest, compact and small. The tugging was more of a nudge than a decisive, two-handed attempt to pull the helmet off. Faint, thin scratching accompanied each bump of movement against the beskar.
Relationships: Din Djarin & Grogu | Baby Yoda
Comments: 36
Kudos: 445





	The Gift

**Author's Note:**

> 'The Mandalorian' has swallowed my brain whole & punched me in ALL of my feelings, so here we are. I hope you enjoy this fic--I wrote it _very_ quickly and am pretty happy with it. Many thanks to [fowo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fowo/pseuds/fowo) for the beta job! ♥

Din came awake to faint tugging on his helmet. 

A weight had settled onto his chest, compact and small. The tugging was more of a nudge than a decisive, two-handed attempt to pull the helmet off. Faint, thin scratching accompanied each bump of movement against the beskar.

His skull pounded sickeningly. He opened his eyes to tiny slits, but caught barely a glimpse of the trees before he had to squeeze them shut again. The light set off stabbing pain deep in his head. 

The explosion had thrown him off the city wall. He'd tumbled head over feet, his flapping cloak wrapping itself around his leg--it'd trailed sparks and smoke where one of the Stormtroopers' grenades had set it on fire.

The controls of his jetpack might as well have been a planet away, for all that he could reach them. Din had slammed helmet-first into a thick tree trunk, cutting short his ungraceful flight. He didn't remember hitting the ground.

The weight on his chest toddled further up. Small fingers wedged themselves under the rim of his helmet, pulling harder. 

Din's hand shot out on its own accord to fend off his assailant. There was a hole burned through his right glove, and his singed fingers curled, ready to yank on hair or clothing or anything he could reach--

The tips of his fingers encountered not smooth Stormtrooper armor, but tough warm skin and the soft hair on the child's head.

Blood was thick and sticky on his tongue, smearing his teeth. He turned his head and took a few shallow, hasty breaths through blood-crusted nostrils, trying to control the roil in his stomach.

"Kid," he coughed, wincing through the hot pain that shot through his broken jaw. Shattered bone ground and shifted, and his cheek was already swelling up, a hot, agonizing throb. "Don't--"

Grogu made a worried babbling noise. His voice was high and distressed. Though Din's dark collar hid the stains well, he could probably smell the blood leaking from his nose, his split lip and the molar that'd cracked in the back of his mouth... 

A distant explosion made the ground shudder. Din blinked slowly at the blurry branches and leaves above him. How had Grogu even gotten here? Had he trekked all the way through the dense forest on his tiny legs to waddle into the middle of an embittered fight between the locals and the remnants of the Empire? 

He'd _told_ the kid to stay on the Razor Crest. He could've gotten hurt, or worse, _killed..._ Din would have to scold him again, something he was patently bad at. He could never bring himself to raise his voice, so he tried to sound serious instead... but Grogu only had to blink those big eyes at him, sometimes tilting his head with a confused coo, and Din's thin veneer of sternness crumbled.

How close were they to the wall? How far had he been thrown? What if the troopers were already stomping through the undergrowth, following the trail of destroyed branches to where he'd fallen--?

He didn't realize how close he'd gotten to unconsciousness until an icy shock of fear yanked him back from the edge. Grogu was so little, his legs too short to run and hide. The ground was uneven, thick with fallen leaves, and he likely wouldn't leave him even if Din ordered him to...

Din's unburned, still gloved hand scrabbled weakly at his belt. His fingers were numb and thick, but he managed to pull his blaster halfway out of its holster. He wouldn't be able to stand, not right away. But he could roll over onto all fours, shelter Grogu under him and shoot at whoever might be coming.

Grogu's little nails scratched at the beskar, and he huffed and grunted with the effort of clambering back up Din's chest. He gripped the edge of the helmet. Three tiny fingers wormed themselves in between Din's blood-crusted chin and the rubber seal--

"Grogu, _stop."_ Talking hurt fiercely, but he ground the words out anyway, struggling to breathe around the bright bursts of pain in his jaw. "Leave it."

Grogu whined in protest, but let go. Din breathed out and pushed him gently off, until he heard dried leaves rustle under those tiny feet. He licked blood off his split lip, struggling to breathe through his swelling nose, and tried to stay calm despite the grinding pain.

He couldn't be sure if Grogu understood the importance of his helmet. When Din lifted up the bottom in his presence, just enough to take sips of water or morsels of food, he certainly stared a lot, curiosity gleaming in his dark eyes... 

Then again, he looked at the little metal control knob with the same astonishment. Din had seen him gaze out at the blue-white swirl of hyperspace like that, his small mouth opening in wonder...

There was no way to explain to Grogu that Din would not let the helmet be removed to assess his injuries. His face hurt like a bantha had kicked him, but it was just a broken jaw and, possibly, a cracked nose. It'd keep till much later, when he'd lock himself in the Crest's cockpit and assess the damage with the seldom-used mirror he'd tucked in with his meager medical supplies.

He pried his eyes open. The breeze smelled faintly of burning rubble and wet soil, and the dessicated leaves of the forest. The light still hurt despite the visor. A high ringing filled his ears, nearly drowning out the rush of his blood. He tried to listen anyway, holding his breath in increments, but there were no more sounds of battle--no shouts of blaster shots.

\--And Grogu was climbing back up his armor, his ears tilted back and his little mouth pinched into a determined almost-scowl. His feet bumped into Din's ribs as he kicked them, struggling for balance, but he finally managed to pull himself up across the chestplate on his belly. His eyes were narrowed in concentration.

Din groaned under his breath. The ache in his skull became near-blinding, and he had to shut his eyes again to block out the daylight. Perhaps his collision with the tree had left him concussed.

Grogu clambered up, steadying himself on his little legs, then sucked in a sniffling, determined breath. 

He didn't go for the helmet this time. Instead, his little claws dug into the fabric of Din's collar. He pulled hard, and the weave of the cloth creaked and strained. 

The pull jarred Din's broken jaw. He grunted, instinctively trying to grit his teeth against the pain, and his cracked molar shifted under the pressure. It felt like a hot poker was shoved into his gums, and he only just managed to choke off his pained cry into a thin, wheezing yelp. 

Grogu whimpered and babbled back, wordless and distraught. He yanked on Din's collar again, ducking to avoid the weak hand Din reached out for him to push him off his chest again. Din's palm encountered an odd, plush resistance. It was dense but soft, like an invisible pillow--

The fabric came loose from where it was tucked under the helmet, slipping down. Fresh air brushed Din's throat, cooling the blood that smeared his jaw. Grogu wheezed with effort, then leaned his weight against the edge of Din's helmet, stretching--

A tiny hand touched his chin, the skin warm and dry. Grogu paused, perhaps surprised by Din's stubble. Then he clasped his three fingers as far around his chin as they would go, one claw digging into the soft skin under Din's jaw, and held on.

Din's head swam. At one point, his eyes had half-opened again. He could see the treetops high above them, and one of Grogu's ears, stiff and unmoving in his concentration.

The branches dissolved, feathering out like a wet painting. The edges of his vision dimmed. Grogu's little palm had been warm before, but now it grew hot, a small, insistent pressure. His touch seemed to sink through Din's flesh, coaxing and pulling at things that were out of place, soothing the raw ache in his skull...

The feeling of his molar fusing back together was stomach-turningly strange. The sharp-edged fragments shifted in his bleeding gums, producing a grinding noise that reverberated in Din's skull. The broken pieces of his tooth mended. The swelling faded, and after a moment all that was left was the hot, salty tang of blood on his tongue.

The cartilage in his nose prickled and itched as it healed. The greatest relief was his jaw, though--it firmed, the loose, splintered agony dissipating. Grogu was not putting any pressure on his hand, but Din felt a shifting, almost like slotting the magazine of an old-fashioned gun into place. Fragments of bone fused back together. The gashes on his lip where he'd smashed it into his teeth healed shut.

Grogu let out a soft sigh. His hand slipped off Din's chin. He swayed forward, his fraile weight tilting, and though Din felt weak-limbed and dizzy, he managed to curl one arm against his chest, for Grogu to slump against. 

He had no idea how long they lay there. The solid ground spun and tilted under him, producing a sour aftertaste in the back of his throat. Colorful blurs floated past behind his closed eyelids, sinking and fading into black. He clung to consciousness by a thread.

It was strange, Din mused drowsily. When Grogu had healed Greef Karga on Nevarro that night, Greef hadn't seemed this affected by the aftermath... but what did he know of the Force? Perhaps drawing poison out of a wound was not comparable to healing broken bones. 

He opened his eyes, looking up at the trees which unblurred slowly in his vision. The fight and the explosion had momentarily silenced the forest, but now birds were beginning to chirp again, small critters in the underbrush chittering their displeasure at the commotion.

Grogu leaned heavily against Din's arm. His breaths stuttered shallowly. His little claws found the gaps between the plates of Din's armor and held on. 

Din scrunched up his nose, then carefully moved his jaw, but nothing hurt. Blood stuck some of his curls to his forehead, but the swelling gash near his hairline was gone. A breeze caressed his bared throat, the blood crusting and tacky.

The howl of an approaching speeder cut through the silence. At first, Din thought it was just a high whine in his ears, but then the noise solidified into the whir of engines. They clanked and rattled, and the scent of smoke wafted towards him on the breeze; the speeder likely belonged to the insurgents, who'd been digging through ex-Imperial scrap piles for equipment. 

Din tried to prop himself up on his elbows. His arms felt like jelly. He groaned through his teeth, trying to roll over so at least he would be between Grogu and any approaching threat--

"Fuck!" someone shouted from not too far away--Cara. The speeder rattled to a stop. "Mando!"

Running footsteps approached. Din turned his head, wincing in automatic anticipation of pain he knew was gone, like his brain had not quite caught up with Grogu's healing yet. 

Cara was darting towards them, carelessly shouldering the long, taped-together rifle that the insurgents had given her. Her trousers were torn across her left thigh, blood darkening the fabric, but she barely seemed to feel it as she skidded to a stop beside him, dropping to her knees.

"Are you okay?" she asked. Her hands hovered above his chestplate. "I saw you go down..."

"Fine," Din croaked. He coughed. His head throbbed one last time, oddly painless--a last echo of the faded concussion.

"You sure? That was a long fall, and I didn't hear your jets--" 

She paused, staring at Grogu's slumped form, his limp ears. "Shit," she said, instantly worried. "What's he doing here?"

Din wrestled himself upright, holding Grogu carefully, trying not to pinch any part of him or his brown wrappings between the shifting plates of his armor. The kid blinked slowly; his breath no longer wheezed with strain, but he was still mostly limp, visibly struggling not to faint.

"You tell me," Din said. The last of his dizziness receded, until he felt only wrung out and tired. "Gonna have to solder the Crest shut next time..."

Cara snorted, but put a gentle hand on Grogu's back, stroking her thumb over the soft hair on his small skull. "What's wrong with the kid, did he get hit?" she asked, and tugged down the back of Grogu's oversized robe, examining his head and neck for injuries.

"No." Din hesitated, but then just said, "The explosion startled him." He would tell her what happened later, when he was certain there were no hostile listening ears.

Cara's dark eyes rested on him for a moment, assessing, but seemed to decide that whatever had happened could wait. "I don't blame him," she said.

She picked Grogu up off Din's chest. "What are you doing here, huh?" she asked him. Despite her scolding words, her voice was gentle. "Mando _told_ you to stay on the ship..."

Grogu looked up at Cara through wearily slitted eyes. One of his ears twitched and he chirped weakly. He'd sagged in her hold, leaning his head against her arm, but he seemed a little more awake.

"It's okay, little guy," Cara said softly. A smear of Din's blood was drying on one claw, and she took his little hand and wiped it on the cuff of her glove. "They're all gone. It's just us now."

Under the helmet, Din still smelled his own blood, congealing down his collar into a brown crust. He moved his jaw again, prodding at his healed tooth with his tongue. 

He found himself remembering that first day, when he'd cauterized the slice on his arm under the light of Arvala-7's setting sun, and Grogu had waddled over to him across the rocky ground, determined and unafraid. He'd put Grogu back into his floating crib twice, unaware of what he'd tried to do...

Even then, though Din had come to abduct him, the kid had wanted to help. Grogu hadn't known him then. But he must have sensed that the strange helmeted human was in pain, and left the relative safety of his crib, determined to do something.

Din took a slow breath that smelled of his own blood. A heart that big would get Grogu hurt and, as he got older, bring him nothing but grief. 

Under the helmet, he scowled darkly. The first person-- hell, the first semi-sentient life form that tried to exploit Grogu's gift again would have the cold, laser-focused anger of a Mandalorian to deal with. And possibly also a furious ex-shock trooper.

Cara stood up, grunting under her breath as she put weight on her injured thigh. She glanced around at the forest, her eyes lingering on the gnarled underbrush and thick tree trunks, but there were no flashes of white armor in sight. 

Birds chirped and sang, their spirits restored after the explosion. A few paces away, the shabby speeder was tilting to the left, trails of smoke coming out of its exhaust pipe.

"C'mon," Cara said to Din. She settled Grogu on her hip and held out her free hand to him. "The insurgents will want to celebrate with us. They tapped a cask of their homebrew the minute the last Stormtrooper fell." 

Din took her hand, but stood up mostly under his own power; Cara was tough, strong enough to grapple with him in full armor, but that was quite a large bloodstain on her trousers. "That probably won't be child-appropriate," he said.

Cara grinned. "Probably not."

Grogu's jaws opened wide in a huge yawn, tilting his ears back and exposing his rows of tiny pointed teeth. He looked down at Cara's tanned arm and snuffled in mild confusion, like he couldn't quite recall how he'd ended up in her hold.

He blinked and shook his head, visibly struggling against the fog of his exhaustion. He patted Cara's wrist with one small hand, then looked up at Din and reached out. 

Though he trusted Cara more than he'd ever trusted an outsider, it was a relief to take Grogu back into his arms. Din couldn't feel his warmth through the armor, or the rough weave of his oversized robe. But the slight weight against his vambrace was primordially reassuring, and soothed a stir of restlessness he hadn't quite noticed. 

Grogu's three-fingered hand on Din's armor was the same, as was the small, satisfied coo he made. Din stared down at him for a moment, assessing; but Grogu looked just as he always did. Green wrinkly skin, fine downy hairs on his head and ears...

He felt obscurely like Grogu should have been somehow changed by the monumental thing he'd just done. Wielding an ancient power for healing should've left him taller, his eyes brighter... But he just blinked up at Din with his habitual childish curiosity, chirping inquisitively at the visor's grave regard.

"Let's go," Cara said, tilting her chin towards the speeder. "If you two sit very still, maybe that rust bucket won't crash."

Din shook his head, automatically holding Grogu a little tighter. "I told you, I'm fine. I can walk."

Cara looked from his hands up to his visor, smirking like she knew exactly that Din would've strode back to the village on a broken ankle before he entrusted the kid's safety to the ramshackle speeder. "Sure," she said.

Cara ended up slowing the speeder way down to drive beside them. The biting stench of its exhaust wafted out behind them instead of hitting Din head-on. She had one hand on the controls, the other on the blaster at her hip; even though the battle seemed to be over, she wasn't taking anything for granted. Her eyes roamed watchfully across the trees.

"Thanks," Din said quietly to Grogu. He was pretty sure Cara heard him, but she didn't say anything. 

The phantom expectation of pain was fading from his nerves, and though he was still tired, Grogu's healing had left him kind of-- refreshed. Fatigued and rejuvenated at the same time, like after a rare soak in a private bath after a difficult mission. 

Grogu chirped earnestly, though his lids were drooping once more. Now that he was back with Din, he seemed content to give in to the pull of fatigue. 

One small, clawed hand rested on Din's chestplate, comfortably limp. He yawned again, then settled deeper into his oversized wrappings and closed his eyes. 

Din shifted his precious cargo against his flank, where the kid would be easier to shield if any straggler Stormtroopers came at them. He smoothed a gentle finger over one large ear, taking care not to squash it against his armor. He slowed his walk and let the swaying of his gait lull Grogu to sleep.


End file.
